prolonged foraf yooday sickness gives me (every eye color of the rainbow) cataclysm emergency-lightening delirium of the noggin and skin, and my thought-processor plays very passive-aggressive leapfrog with impressionist gonad thoughts and bizarre ideas for art projects, ASLdkjfLJKFALKJF. ahem


i'm afraid of everythingggggggggggg
but it's a good kind of afraid.
and I cut out a 7x9inch square of skin on my chest and put a little old-western swinging bar door there, flapping in the swishswash of people's voices. and it's dangerous business, very dangerous but
if I stop moving I'll die, and that would be (kind
of hippocritical of me. and what kind of devout
liberal wants to be a hippocritter? Not I, says I


I want to live inside of the song the invisible gardener
also, is it just me, or does anyone else thoroughly love random encounters with strangers? especially when they're aged in some way and vagabond and you talk to them about politics and they tell you to be careful, it's a scary world


)
(I don't like to punctuate at the end of paragraphs, it means there is an end